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    <title>1. CHAPTER XII</title>
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    <div class="chapter" id="id1035933"><h2>1. CHAPTER XII</h2>


<p id="id1035939"><span id="id119698"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->

One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball
completely satisfactory to Emma—its being fixed for a day within
the granted term of Frank Churchill’s stay in Surry; for, in spite
of Mr. Weston’s confidence, she could not think it so very impossible
that the Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain
a day beyond his fortnight.  But this was not judged feasible. 
The preparations must take their time, nothing could be properly
ready till the third week were entered on, and for a few days they
must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty—at the risk—
in her opinion, the great risk, of its being all in vain.
</p>

<p id="id1035942"><span id="id119706"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. 
His wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was
not opposed.  All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one
solicitude generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain
of her ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley’s
provoking indifference about it.  Either because he did not
dance himself, or because the plan had been formed without his
being consulted, he seemed resolved that it should not interest him,
determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording
him any future amusement.  To her voluntary communications Emma
could get no more approving reply, than,
</p>

<p id="id1035945"><span id="id119712"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Very well.  If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this
trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing
to say against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.—
Oh! yes, I must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep
as much awake as I can; but I would rather be at home, looking over
William Larkins’s week’s account; much rather, I confess.—
Pleasure in seeing dancing!—not I, indeed—I never look at it—
I do not know who does.—Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue,
must be its own reward.  Those who are standing by are usually
thinking of something very different.”
</p>

<p id="id1035948"><span id="id119718"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. 
It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was
so indifferent, or so indignant; he was not guided by her feelings
in reprobating the ball, for she enjoyed the thought of it
to an extraordinary degree.  It made her animated—open hearted—
she voluntarily said;—
</p>

<p id="id1035911"><span id="id119725"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh!  Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. 
What a disappointment it would be!  I do look forward to it, I own,
with very great pleasure.”
</p>

<p id="id1035960"><span id="id119737"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have
preferred the society of William Larkins.  No!—she was more and more
convinced that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. 
There was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment
on his side—but no love.
</p>

<p id="id1035953"><span id="id119746"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. 
Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the
over-throw of every thing.  A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill
to urge his nephew’s instant return.  Mrs. Churchill was unwell—
far too unwell to do without him; she had been in a very suffering
state (so said her husband) when writing to her nephew two days before,
though from her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant
habit of never thinking of herself, she had not mentioned it;
but now she was too ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off
for Enscombe without delay.
</p>

<p id="id1035967"><span id="id119755"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note
from Mrs. Weston, instantly.  As to his going, it was inevitable. 
He must be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real
alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance.  He knew her illnesses;
they never occurred but for her own convenience.
</p>

<p id="id1035965"><span id="id119753"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Mrs. Weston added, “that he could only allow himself time to
hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few
friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him;
and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.”
</p>

<p id="id1035977"><span id="id119770"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
This wretched note was the finale of Emma’s breakfast.  When once
it had been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament
and exclaim.  The loss of the ball—the loss of the young man—
and all that the young man might be feeling!—It was too wretched!—
Such a delightful evening as it would have been!—Every body so happy!
and she and her partner the happiest!—“I said it would be so,”
was the only consolation.
</p>

<p id="id1035982"><span id="id119777"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Her father’s feelings were quite distinct.  He thought principally
of Mrs. Churchill’s illness, and wanted to know how she was treated;
and as for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed;
but they would all be safer at home.
</p>

<p id="id1035990"><span id="id119790"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared;
but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful
look and total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him. 
He felt the going away almost too much to speak of it.  His dejection
was most evident.  He sat really lost in thought for the first
few minutes; and when rousing himself, it was only to say,
</p>

<p id="id1035979"><span id="id119804"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.”
</p>

<p id="id1035997"><span id="id119812"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“But you will come again,” said Emma.  “This will not be your only
visit to Randalls.”
</p>

<p id="id1036005"><span id="id119823"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Ah!—(shaking his head)—the uncertainty of when I may be able
to return!—I shall try for it with a zeal!—It will be the object
of all my thoughts and cares!—and if my uncle and aunt go to town
this spring—but I am afraid—they did not stir last spring—
I am afraid it is a custom gone for ever.”
</p>

<p id="id1036008"><span id="id119829"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Our poor ball must be quite given up.”
</p>

<p id="id1036010"><span id="id119838"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Ah! that ball!—why did we wait for any thing?—why not seize the
pleasure at once?—How often is happiness destroyed by preparation,
foolish preparation!—You told us it would be so.—Oh!  Miss Woodhouse,
why are you always so right?”
</p>

<p id="id1036021"><span id="id119852"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance.  I would
much rather have been merry than wise.”
</p>

<p id="id1036028"><span id="id119863"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“If I can come again, we are still to have our ball.  My father
depends on it.  Do not forget your engagement.”
</p>

<p id="id1036035"><span id="id119873"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma looked graciously.
</p>

<p id="id1036038"><span id="id119880"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Such a fortnight as it has been!” he continued; “every day more
precious and more delightful than the day before!—every day making
me less fit to bear any other place.  Happy those, who can remain
at Highbury!”
</p>

<p id="id1036047"><span id="id119894"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“As you do us such ample justice now,” said Emma, laughing, “I will
venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first? 
Do not we rather surpass your expectations?  I am sure we do. 
I am sure you did not much expect to like us.  You would not have been
so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.”
</p>

<p id="id1036050"><span id="id119901"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment,
Emma was convinced that it had been so.
</p>

<p id="id1036058"><span id="id119909"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“And you must be off this very morning?”
</p>

<p id="id1036062"><span id="id119917"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Yes; my father is to join me here:  we shall walk back together,
and I must be off immediately.  I am almost afraid that every moment
will bring him.”
</p>

<p id="id1036071"><span id="id119930"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax and
Miss Bates?  How unlucky!  Miss Bates’s powerful, argumentative mind
might have strengthened yours.”
</p>

<p id="id1036078"><span id="id119942"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Yes—I have called there; passing the door, I thought it better. 
It was a right thing to do.  I went in for three minutes, and was
detained by Miss Bates’s being absent.  She was out; and I felt it
impossible not to wait till she came in.  She is a woman that one may,
that one must laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. 
It was better to pay my visit, then”—
</p>

<p id="id1036082"><span id="id119949"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He hesitated, got up, walked to a window.
</p>

<p id="id1036084"><span id="id119957"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“In short,” said he, “perhaps, Miss Woodhouse—I think you can
hardly be quite without suspicion”—
</p>

<p id="id1036092"><span id="id119967"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts.  She hardly
knew what to say.  It seemed like the forerunner of something
absolutely serious, which she did not wish.  Forcing herself
to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it by, she calmly said,
</p>

<p id="id1036097"><span id="id119978"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then”—
</p>

<p id="id1036103"><span id="id119988"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He was silent.  She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting
on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. 
She heard him sigh.  It was natural for him to feel that he had
cause to sigh.  He could not believe her to be encouraging him. 
A few awkward moments passed, and he sat down again; and in a more
determined manner said,
</p>

<p id="id1036106"><span id="id120001"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“It was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be
given to Hartfield.  My regard for Hartfield is most warm”—
</p>

<p id="id1036114"><span id="id120012"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.—
He was more in love with her than Emma had supposed; and who can say
how it might have ended, if his father had not made his appearance? 
Mr. Woodhouse soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made
him composed.
</p>

<p id="id1036094"><span id="id120018"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial. 
Mr. Weston, always alert when business was to be done, and as
incapable of procrastinating any evil that was inevitable,
as of foreseeing any that was doubtful, said, “It was time to go;”
and the young man, though he might and did sigh, could not but agree,
to take leave.
</p>

<p id="id1036121"><span id="id120029"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I shall hear about you all,” said he; that is my chief consolation. 
I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you.  I have
engaged Mrs. Weston to correspond with me.  She has been so kind as
to promise it.  Oh! the blessing of a female correspondent, when one
is really interested in the absent!—she will tell me every thing. 
In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury again.“
</p>

<p id="id1036124"><span id="id120026"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest “Good-bye,“
closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out Frank Churchill. 
Short had been the notice—short their meeting; he was gone; and Emma
felt so sorry to part, and foresaw so great a loss to their little
society from his absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry,
and feeling it too much.
</p>

<p id="id1036118"><span id="id120039"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
It was a sad change.  They had been meeting almost every day
since his arrival.  Certainly his being at Randalls had given
great spirit to the last two weeks—indescribable spirit; the idea,
the expectation of seeing him which every morning had brought,
the assurance of his attentions, his liveliness, his manners! 
It had been a very happy fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking
from it into the common course of Hartfield days.  To complete every
other recommendation, he had almost told her that he loved her. 
What strength, or what constancy of affection he might be subject to,
was another point; but at present she could not doubt his having
a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious preference of herself;
and this persuasion, joined to all the rest, made her think that
she must be a little in love with him, in spite of every previous
determination against it.
</p>

<p id="id1036129"><span id="id120048"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I certainly must,” said she.  “This sensation of listlessness,
weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and employ myself,
this feeling of every thing’s being dull and insipid about the house!—
I must be in love; I should be the oddest creature in the world if I
were not—for a few weeks at least.  Well! evil to some is always
good to others.  I shall have many fellow-mourners for the ball,
if not for Frank Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. 
He may spend the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.”
</p>

<p id="id1036134"><span id="id120053"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness.  He could
not say that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look
would have contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily,
that he was sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with
considerable kindness added,
</p>

<p id="id1036137"><span id="id120065"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are really
out of luck; you are very much out of luck!”
</p>

<p id="id1036144"><span id="id120075"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her
honest regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet,
her composure was odious.  She had been particularly unwell, however,
suffering from headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare,
that had the ball taken place, she did not think Jane could have
attended it; and it was charity to impute some of her unbecoming
indifference to the languor of ill-health.
</p>



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